


Formidable joy

by maybeillride



Series: Songfics [8]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, F/M, Fem!Rin, Gen, Road Trips, Songfic, and Mako on drums, dig if you will the thought of those two on lead guitar, fem!Haru, no bassist tho...;P
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: The feedback finally cuts out and Rin jumps quickly in. “So, yeah! We’ve been My Shining. That’s Haru over there being a total badass on the guitar and Makoto is our rock on the drums.” Haru makes not a fucking acknowledgment of her introduction as per usual, fixing her scary gaze at some mysterious spot at the back of the smoke-filled bar.Rin waits for the females in the crowd to finish their obligatory screaming for Mako then leans back into the mic. “And I’m Rin. It’s been a pleasure to play for you all tonight.” Doesn’t matter if it’s not true this time; it’s showbiz after all, and you gotta leave ‘em happy.





	Formidable joy

**Author's Note:**

> So I heard the most [hypnotic and lovely song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGM5hMq8kvo) from this awesome trio, the Joy Formidable. And all I could think of was SouRin. Never mind that I've never really written them before (despite fully understanding this ship in my bones). Or that it didn't sound like the song could lose its female narrator. Voila, a dive into a new ship and a RinHaru gender swap! No worries, right? 
> 
> *shudders*

 “We got one more for you tonight,” Rin says into the mic. She flinches a little as it feeds back,  temporarily interrupting the constant chatter from the drunks. 

“Piece of shit,” Haru mutters next to her. Rin cuts her eyes over. Haru’s standing like a tree, in her usual ultra-wide-legged stance, hands resting on her Flying V like it’s a machine gun she could grab at any second and aim at the unsuspecting crowd. But at this moment, there’s not even a twitch of movement, not a drop of sweat going on. 

Rin, meanwhile, is fucking drowning in it. The sweatband she always wears may look like a shameless ‘80s affectation but really, it’s completely practical if she doesn’t want a river to blind her mid-show, sending her over the edge of the stage to crack her head open and bleed out unceremoniously. It’s not fair.

The feedback finally cuts out and she jumps quickly in. “So, yeah! We’ve been My Shining. That’s Haru over there being a total badass on the guitar and Makoto is our rock on the drums.” Haru makes not a fucking acknowledgment of her introduction as per usual, fixing her scary gaze at some mysterious spot at the back of the smoke-filled bar.  

Meanwhile, like she does every time she introduces him, Rin has to turn back to watch Mako raise his crossed sticks triumphantly in the air, beaming like he’s the fucking god of percussion. Doesn’t matter how shitty the audience was, how tiny the “stage” is, how tired they all are… somehow, he grins like it’s the happiest moment of his life. Even if Rin knows for a fact that he’s sick. Or not feeling it. 

That’s not fair, either.

Rin waits for the females in the crowd to finish their obligatory screaming for Mako then leans back into the mic. “And I’m Rin. It’s been a pleasure to play for you all tonight.” Doesn’t matter if it’s not true this time; it’s showbiz after all, and you gotta leave ‘em happy.

From the back of the room, where Haru’s glaring like she’s got a sixth sense for hecklers: “Show us your tits!” 

There’s a scattering of sudden, ugly drunk male laughter, which buoys the witty fucker to turn it into a chant that is quickly picked up around the room. 

Rin sighs.  

“You wanna just leave?” she hears Mako ask behind her. Haru’s stalked over to his kit and she joins their little huddle. Mako’s face is composed – mostly – but she knows him, and from the grip he has on his sticks she knows he’s pissed. 

“Fuck that,” Haru tells him.

“’Last Thing on My Mind,’” Rin insists. She grins wickedly. “Let’s give ‘em a good last impression.”

The fuckers are still chanting when they turn back to take their places. Rin shakes out her left hand, then her right, then she makes a big show of cracking her knuckles. Then Haru hits her broadside in the face with her shirt and she staggers back, busting out laughing. The crowd loses it, hooting and yelling, and Rin turns to her old friend.

“To eleven?” she asks, flipping up the volume dial on her Fender.

“To eleven,” Haru confirms, cranking her own volume with a dangerous smile.

*

“Look, you played a full set, don’t get me wrong,” the booker says for the third or fourth time. 

“But?” Rin presses, taking a step further in on him. The back office is cramped as it is, a glorified janitor’s closet with a desk, and with the three of them in there with the guy it’s more or less like sharing a bathroom stall together. 

The guy turns in exasperation to Mako. “We can’t have this kind of… _show_ here. This is a respectable place, this isn’t a strip club.”

“Oh really,” Rin busts in and the guy goes on to Mako like it’ll make her disappear. 

“If your ladies wanna do that they’re gonna have to take it elsewhere. I’m sorry, my hands are tied.”

“What do you have against the female body, _sir?_ ” Rin demands, taking another half-step into the guy’s intense cloud of b.o. and cologne. 

“I think maybe he’s more uncomfortable with the simulated oral sex,” Haru puts in behind them, her voice unusually calm. “Maybe the idea of two chicks getting each other off is deeply troubling.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops!” the booker blusters, his face turning red. “You’re getting off lucky here!”

“Come on,” Mako says, and Rin feels a warm hand on her shoulder, and part of her is mad, furious, because fuck this guy, really, fuck him. How dare he refuse to pay them? But most of her knows Mako is right. They gotta go. It isn’t the first time they’ve been stiffed for a gig, and it won’t be the last.

She turns, and Mako’s face is the pissed-but-resigned she feels. Haru’s staring the dickhead down in the extra-large Hawaiian shirt he shoved at her when she came offstage, topless and braless and somehow still in her skinny jeans. Mako has a hand on Haru’s shoulder too, and she knows that’s the only reason they all back awkwardly out of the office and no one ends up hurt.

They try to ignore the scattered hoots and invitations that follow them to the minivan parked in the alley next to the club. Some dude leaning against the side of the building asks Haru if she’s as good at sucking dick as she is at pussy, laughing out a cloud of smoke.

Mako squints back for a second and seems to make a decision. “Go on ahead, I’ll be right there,” he says quietly to them. Rin exchanges a look with Haru.

“Don’t be an idiot, Makoto,” Haru says just as quietly. 

“I won’t,” he answers, and the funniest thing is that Rin thinks he means it. She shakes her head, amused, fond, but mostly just fucking tired and absolutely ready to crash. She throws an arm around Haru’s shoulders.

“Come on. Can’t talk that guy out of anything, right?” They shuffle down the block and Rin has to chuckle. “Nice shirt, by the way. You know, if you wanted the guy’s shirt there may have been less… forward ways to get it.”

Haru just shrugs against her. She looks as tired as Rin feels, but it’s a different kind of tired, a peaceful tired. It’s how she always looks when they’re done playing. It doesn’t matter if it was a fantastic gig or a piece of shit like the one they just finished. It doesn’t matter if they were just practicing, all three of them jamming or just the two of them on their beat-up old Martin acoustics. It always leaves Haru looking different somehow, her eyes softer, her mouth relaxed. She even feels different against Rin’s side, the long line of her body calm and happy.  

It’s a transformation Rin thinks she can understand intellectually – it’s the natural high of the music, it just shines out of her. But at the same time it’s something she’s never fully grasped herself. Haru makes the music look so easy. As easy as breathing, almost. It’s not like that for Rin, no matter how much she practices and no matter how much she listens, intently. Nothing has ever been that easy for her, not in the same way, even as she was always good in school and an ace in the pool, even as she can rip her guitar to shreds. All these things are true… but none of these things have been “hers” in the same way that it’s clear music is to Haru. 

And she knows Haru doesn’t waste her time thinking about any of it, which just further goes to prove what different worlds they inhabit…

Mako ends up catching up to them faster than she expects. They’ve just slid into the driver and shotgun seats respectively when he’s pulling the backdoor open and falling in, laughing breathlessly.

“Go!” he half-laughs, half-gasps. Rin doesn’t waste the time needed to grill him and screeches out into the street. It’s lucky for them that it’s closing time; they don’t get T-boned by a truck or something, and she’s able to do a stunt-driver 90-degree point turn and motor them away from there. Rin flicks her eyes up at Mako in the rearview as Haru hangs between the front seats.

“What’d you do,” she says, not a question, and Rin sees no evidence one way or another on Mako’s face. Not only is he not hurt, apparently, he’s alight, with an anger that’s all mixed up with joy, or something that gives him a big scary grin and bright eyes. Not a happy joy; a vicious joy. 

“Fucking testosterone, I swear,” Rin tells him and he laughs.

“I get enough shit from Haru. Just let me do this. Why else would you two put up with having a guy in your band?”

Rin scoffs back at him, speeding them onto the freeway and out of the seedier part of Kyoto. “Um, because we love you, you big dick?”

“Don’t bother trying to talk to him.” Haru turns back to her, having apparently completed her visual inspection of Makoto to her satisfaction. “You can’t talk to him. He continues to operate under the lie that gender means something.”

Rin _hmmms_ fake-thoughtfully at that and Mako just scoffs and waves a hand dismissively from the backseat, and then there’s one of their familiar silences, a comfortable phenomenon that pretty much only happens post-gig when they’re all borderline comatose. The freeway lights beam down into the van in hypnotic waves. Haru yawns and curls up into a comma-shape against the door. Rin absently clicks the stereo on; it’s some local station, some jazz thing that normally she’d switch in an instant, but something about the quiet in the van fits its mood perfectly. 

They just listen for a while. It’s about a half hour to the motel, and they’re one of the only cars on the road, and the jazz trio has this great pianist with an uncanny ability to take a simple melody and deconstruct the shit out of it. Haru’s breathing deeply and Rin’s sure she’s asleep; from the silence in the backseat, she assumes Mako is too, until she hears a low, “Have you talked to Sousuke lately?”

She jerks the wheel, a little reflexive action like her hands know the truth that she doesn’t bother talking about. It’s minute enough that she doesn’t think Mako noticed. She covers herself just to be sure.

“God, Mako. I was starting to drift off. Thanks for waking me up.” She tightens her hands on the wheel. “Thank God we’re almost there.”

“So?” He’s leaning forward between the seats, and his eyes are intent on hers as the streetlights pick them out. “You guys are so close. And I can’t even remember when I last saw him. That’s what happens when you go on the road, I guess.” She watches him glance to the side and laugh, ruefully. “’The Great World Tour.’”

That’s the funny thing. If she had to answer Mako in a court of law, if he was the (totally terrifyingly effective) prosecutor facing her down on the witness stand, there would be an airtight cell phone record telling him all he needed to know. 

A pile of voice mails. Increasingly desperate, decreasingly emotional – she has no idea. Each new call lighting her phone screen with his name touched off a simple reflex in her. In the choice between fight versus flight, she fights but when it came to that insistent light seeking her out it was flight, every time. She turned the screen down, turned it away, tucked it in a skintight pocket – and the counter on her voicemail icon ticked up, and up, and up, and the more it grew the more she was certain she wouldn’t listen. But she didn’t erase them.

A pile of voice mails, but a _mountain_ of texts. She caught a glimpse of one once, a few months (?) back, on accident – she’d been expecting one from her sister about their mom, something important. Ironically, she can’t remember what exactly. And she snatched up the phone at the first sight of that light, her thumb opening the screen before her eyes could know better, as she saw:

_Please, Rin. I wish we could talk so you could tell me what you’re trying to prove by all this. I want to know what I did, what I can do, I want you to tell me! And it’s not about us. It’s about YOU. Why would you abandon your potential to go play pretend with HARU, of all people –_

Then her brain finally caught up and forced her thumb back onto the button, shutting him down. She shut him off, and still his name kept lighting up her screen. Until it didn’t.

It hadn’t, for a long time. And she hadn’t even thought about him in about as long. Until now, with Mako waiting for her answer, looking at her with genuine interest. Such a Mako thing. And what kind of person does that make her, to cut the memory of someone so perfectly out of her brain, as if she’d had the world’s most specific lobotomy?? 

Mako seems to sense something is off when far, far too long goes by after his simple question. He frowns in the rearview, and then she feels that hand on her shoulder again, and it says everything that he doesn’t say aloud. 

Of course she starts crying. Of fucking course. She cries them the rest of the way to the cheap-ass motel that she picked for them because it was in budget, and she puts the van into park, and Mako moves on to rubbing her shoulder, gently. They just sit there for as long as it takes her to take a steady breath. She nods at him, finally, wiping her nose and meeting his eyes in the mirror. He nods back. Haru gently snores, the pain in the ass.

*

The song surprises her. It isn’t how she operates – she has to make dates to write, put it down on her calendar, block the time out. But Rin wakes up in a hotel bed in Tokyo and her heart is _pounding_. It feels like when she used to finish a heat and hit the wall, like her entire upper respiratory system is just gonna climb up and out of her throat. 

First thing she does is get her bearings, because for all she knows she just yelled herself awake. But the room is otherwise peaceful, her bed rumpled, Haru spooning Mako in the other bed and (yes) gently snoring. 

Second thing she does is scramble out of bed to her army duffle, pawing through a snarl of dirty laundry. The words are still hanging in her head, the dream not fading, and she hisses a little _“yes”_ when her fingers finally hit her notebook.

Haru finds her in the bathroom some unknowable time later. She’s sitting on the toilet seat, hunched over the notebook on her knees, and it takes three tries for Haru to get her to look up from her mad-looking scribblings.

“I’m writing,” she tells her friend, unnecessarily. 

“Um. Right,” Haru replies, frowning. She comes the rest of the way into the tiny bathroom and lays the back of her hand on Rin’s forehead. “You don’t feel like you’re dying.”

“Fuck you,” Rin says out of habit. She grabs Haru’s wrist before she can get away, gazing up at her with eyes that feel wide and unhinged. “Haru. I think I got a really good one here.”

“Uh huh.” Haru, bless her forever, just waits patiently for Rin to get it out, like she’s familiar with this irrational creative method. And she is, of course. A crazy happiness blooms in Rin’s chest. So this must be how Haru feels…

She reaches up and grabs Haru’s other hand, holding them both like she’s asking the woman to the spring dance. It’s ridiculous and it’s cheesy and Rin can’t help it. “Okay, so I pretty much woke up with the lyrics, like, I didn’t have to work ‘em at all.” She squeezes Haru’s hands. “You don’t understand. I just had this one, for once. Fuck, it’s practically orgasmic. Is this how you feel all the time??”

Haru blinks, while Rin just laughs, like she can’t help herself. “What, orgasmic?”

“Forget it. Don’t tell me your secrets, you’ll ruin it.”

“And you call ME a weirdo,” Haru says, shaking her head. “We done here? ‘Cause I need a bath, like now, and you’re welcome to stay and do your thing, but I’m getting in the water. FYI.”

“Of course,” Rin can’t help saying, smiling back, and Haru keeps shaking her head (sadly, or maybe that’s just her) as she turns away, leaning over and fiddling with the knobs. Rin takes the perfect opportunity to whack Haru’s pajama-covered-ass with her notebook.

Haru yelps. Predictably, Mako pipes up “Haru? You okay?” from the bedroom. Rin heads out there to tackle him to keep him on his toes.

*

Rin and Haru can’t pass up Guitar Street while they’re in Tokyo. 

Part of it is because they feel like celebrating after a better than decent gig, one where the crowd nodded and swayed and pogoed, where shitty hecklers were in the minority, where somehow people cheered for more as they stumbled offstage. They had to pull an encore out of nowhere, their first ever. They ended up doing a sloppy punk cover of “Material Girl” just because Rin has Madonna’s catalog down backwards and forwards. Their little wad of yen felt particularly sweet, tucked deep in Rin’s pocket until they got back to the hotel that night, where she ceremoniously split it three ways. Mako blew his on a room service splurge, of fucking course. But he shared, also of course.

But Guitar Street is a required visitation no matter what. For Haru, it’s basically like going to church, the row after row of stores putting this look of awe on her face that’s painfully adorable. Rin is more the type to rub her mental hands together in glee at the chance to test out every guitar she can’t possibly afford. It’s a beautiful dream, anyway. 

She and Haru are messing around in front of a wall of Les Pauls, admiring the glossy finish on a Black Beauty. Rin hefts it down.

“Damn, do they have to make these things so heavy? This has gotta be 10 kilos.” She tries out a rock-god pose with a deep backbend, guitar held high, and is shaking her head when she comes back up. “No way. If I played one of these I’d need to be on heavy narcs just to get through the show.”

“Does Sousuke think we get high?” Haru asks her then, and she practically drops the guitar in surprise. Haru’s watching her, face still and serious. Rin’s angry, suddenly, and she doesn’t know why, or who’s her target – Haru, or Sousuke, or herself.

“How the hell should I know what Sousuke thinks?” she hits back. 

Haru crosses her arms on her chest but she’s standing still, as still as she was onstage in that crappy bar, like it’s gonna take an earthquake to budge her off topic.

“Rin. Come on. Think how much he cares about you.” And Rin can’t stand the earnestness in Haru’s voice – it was embarrassing enough having Mako remind her just what a shitty friend she is, but somehow having Haru do the same is a thousand times worse.

She clumsily puts the Les Paul back on the wall, distantly grateful when she makes the bracket, and turns to march out of the showroom. But as fast as she speed-walks – can’t go sprinting out – Haru is right on her heels like she just can’t take a hint.

Rin makes it to the bathroom before whirling to face Haru, grabbing her by the shoulders and putting her into the wall between the hand dryers. They hit a little too hard and Haru’s breath puffs out, and part of Rin is alarmed at herself, but this is them, this is just part of how they do it, and she’s not about to stop now.

“Why wouldn’t he think that, huh? Why wouldn’t he assume we’re all in a big wasted orgy all the time, actually?”

Haru’s eyes stab at her and at the same time she grabs Rin’s shoulders too, squeezing hard. “I know that, okay? Why else do you think I fucking asked? Don’t you think that’s part of why things are so bad between you two?”

Rin freezes, as Haru looks her face over with that unbearable earnestness again, and she can’t keep the cold from her voice. 

“How would you know how things are between us? I don’t see how that’s your problem, Haru.”

Haru doesn’t hesitate. “Of course it is. You’re my best friend. If I’m part of the reason you can’t even talk to him, that’s not okay.” She pauses and Rin can think of nothing to change the subject. “If he knew I was clean, that I wasn’t getting you into trouble, I think he might feel different about… everything.

“I know he’ll never forgive me for taking you off track. But he deserves to know you’re okay.”

Haru falls silent, like this whole crazy melodramatic John Hughes thing is a script she’s done reading. The weight of her eyes finally becomes too much. It’s borderline too-much in the best of circumstances. 

Rin takes a step back, then turns and walks calmly out.

*

Rin doesn’t do much to actively incorporate the new weirdnesses into her life. She sure as shit doesn’t attempt some grand outreach effort to her… 

That’s a big part of the problem. There are no good words for what Sousuke is to her, no easy terms. So, he’s the person she’s known and kept in touch with longest aside from her mom and sister. There’s that. But he’s also the person who shared the kind of intense go-everywhere-together thing that got teachers’ and parents’ eyebrows waggling, for different reasons. Some cooed about booking a church for their future wedding date. Some dared to talk to her mom about what a “tomboy” she was and what that might mean. None understood the easy simplicity of their thing, the way they just got each other, gender be damned.

Then, he’s the person who flew into some kind of bullshit – jealous? Possessive? – thing, from practically the day she walked into her art elective and happened to sit next to Haru. And making it to swim practice suddenly didn’t seem so important anymore. Making those 0600 practices was a killer after drinking all night with Haru, giggling and messing around and just basking in those eyes. So she didn’t, after a while. And she discovered the joy of making music with her, putting on old heavy metal CDs and trying to outdo each other with how fast they could play. She finally found a use for her English skills, handling the lyrics while Haru noodled up perfect accompaniment from out of nowhere. Mars, probably. When Haru’s best friend Makoto joined them, it was weird how… natural it all felt.

In this brand-new thing that stretched into a long-term thing there was no place for this person she can’t even define. So when they wrap up their Epic World Tour and head back to Iwatobi, Rin goes back to her job at the local senior center and her little apartment, and things feel the same, for the most part. 

But that new song won’t leave her alone. She sits on the train and the wheels on the tracks could be Mako’s drums leading it in, those big thundering whacks that are both heavy and light (how does he do that??). She drifts off between numbers as she’s calling Bingo, thinking of how amazing it would be if she and Haru could get a really old-school ‘50s sound out of their guitars, twangy and high and lonesome. How much would that paint the perfect picture of this desert she drives through in the song, really? She’s never driven in the desert. She’s never _been_ in a desert. But the feeling of the song, the longing and the regret, is a desert feeling, and only a twangy old guitar tone will do.

She’s obsessed enough that she calls rehearsal a week early, cutting off all their usual R&R time they book after a string of shows. 

“So I don’t know how we’re gonna afford this song. We either need to get a whole new effects rig or possibly a couple of vintage Gretsch guitars to pull it off. I’m not sure which.”

Mako laughs as if she was kidding, glancing over at Haru where she’s sitting on top of an amp and swinging her legs. Like that was a meaningful exchange, Haru nods and jumps down, coming up to where Rin is doodling skulls on the lyrics sheet.

“Let’s start with a look at those,” she says, gently, taking the sheet just as gently and glancing quickly over the lines. A little smile grows on her face as she reads, and when she looks up at Rin her eyes are wide.

“This is really good. I think I can hear what you’re talking about.” She bites her lip in concentration. “Can you try and describe what you’re hearing?”

Rin frowns down at her words, neatly typed into lines and waiting for her. She can hardly believe she’s having a What Would Haru Do? Moment, but what are you gonna do?

She reaches over to where her Martin is lying on a table and pulls it on. “Okay, you’re gonna have to use your imagination here…”

*

They have a capacity crowd at the gig on Saturday, the biggest of their tour by far. That’s a hundred percent due to the hometown factor; they’re basically playing to their high school. 

“Did you fucking invite everyone we know?” she demands backstage, and Gou just snort-laughs like it’s hilarious that she even has to ask. 

“I dunno though, sis. You may wanna tone down the, uh, onstage lesbian sex acts for this crowd. I don’t know if poor little Iwatobi is ready for that, you know, culturally.”

“You heard about that?” Mako asks her, and it sounds like the surprise and embarrassment in his voice is real. She has no idea why he persists in using the innocent act on her little sister, at least until she sees the usual indulgence in Gou’s eyes. She has to hand it to Mako, he’s a fucking natural.

“Yeah, well. Maybe just keep it PG-13 this time.” She suddenly throws her arms around Rin’s neck and gives her a death grip, and Rin smiles and pats her back. They’ve had their share of drama together, and that hug tells Rin all she needs to know.

“Five minutes to go-time,” Haru leans in to tell them. Rin looks over at her, surprised; Haru announcing curtain is the equivalent of Mako throwing a shit-fit onstage. 

She has to blink at the sight of her, too. Usually Haru’s stage clothes are whatever the hell she had on all day. But she clearly made an effort tonight. She’s in a white lace top, a pair of white jeans; she’s pulled her long stick-straight hair up and wound it on her head so it’s out of her way. The effect isn’t sexual – it’s almost symbolic, some kind of obscure part she’s playing that she hasn’t clued Rin in on.

“What’s with the angel outfit?” she snorts, and Haru just rolls her eyes and heads onstage to check her rig. Rin turns to Mako, a little relieved he at least is in his usual tank and jeans. “Have you ever seen her in white?”

Mako just shrugs, and smiles, and Rin finds herself smiling back. 

“You excited to play the new one?”

Rin shudders involuntarily. “Uh, yeah, if by excited you mean ‘ready to puke.’ I wonder if it’s even ready to go…”

“We’re doing it. There’s no way we’re not doing it. It’s my favorite.”

She hits his shoulder. “Really?? It is pretty good, huh.”

He loops an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, yeah.”

*

The set flies by, and the faces in front are all Rin can see but they’re so into it, so clearly feeding back what they’re putting out, that it’s all she needs. 

She and Haru pogo side by side. They get into face-off after face-off, and the crowd eats it up, cheering like mad at the end of every duel. Mako holds them together, giving them their bottom end they so badly need without a bassist.

They file back out onstage for only their second encore ever. Mako is so soaked, he’s given up on his tank and is shirtless, to the shrieks of the crowd. Even Haru has finally broken a sweat though she’s keeping all her clothes on, for some reason. 

Rin steps to the mic, holding the neck of her guitar tight. “Hey, y’all. Thank you so much for coming, this has been really special. We have one more for you.” She smiles over at Haru when the crowd boos. “Aw, quit your bellyaching. This is a brand new one and we’re really happy to get to play it for you tonight.”

“Thanks again,” Haru leans into her mic to interrupt. The crowd cheers expectantly.

Rin smiles down at her hands, waiting for Mako’s shuffling beat. Then he kicks it off, and it’s swinging and shaking, and the front row is bobbing along.

Haru slides in next. Rin has no idea how she’s made her Flying V growl and purr and squeak like an old car. It’s… _magic_. And her riff – no, RIN’s riff – locks in with Mako’s beat, into the perfect vehicle for the story Rin is about to tell. And it’s so beautiful, so perfect, she almost misses her cue but she saves it just in time.

“I’m driving north, seen this road a thousand times,” she tells the room, almost conversationally. “But today it’s different – not like that old friend of mine... Comes up like a burn, brooding sadly, it’s not on show, it never has been… I pull up to the side, those black windows have been closed a while…

“Another chance for you…” 

Haru’s guitar weaves and dances in counterpoint to hers, and _those eyes have set a trap,_ Rin tells them, and _these sheets are haunted, not by you, but by a moment that’s long gone,_ she tells them all, and she’s stomping her bare feet to Mako’s beat.

Haru hangs back near Mako’s kit, leaving her the spotlight, to mourn, to laugh, to sigh. Their music builds and builds, and she’s facing the sudden punchline of the whole thing:

_We’ve been here before but never facing each other…_

_Maybe we’re not alone, m_ _aybe I’ve missed it all along…_

_There’s still a change I wanna know!_

_Maybe we’re not alone after all…_

_Another chance for you…_

They trade their last notes as the song winds to a jangling close, and she savors the silence in the room even more than the applause that comes after.

*

They’re breaking their gear down afterwards, trading the usual bullshit post-show-high quips back and forth, when Mako interrupts them with a theatrical throat-clearing. Rin glances up from the cable she’s coiling to see him nodding meaningfully downstage.

When she turns, whatever smartass thing she was ready to say evaporates from her mind. Sousuke is there, standing at the lip of the stage with his hands in his jeans pockets like he was never gone. Or, more accurately since why not, like _she_ was never gone. He’s craning his neck up to see her, and she realizes with a surreal amusement, _this may be the only chance you have to be taller than the guy, so enjoy it._

“We’ll catch you two later,” Mako is saying, and Rin turns to see him leaving with a friendly wave. Haru’s right behind him, but before she slips backstage she sends Sousuke an ironic little salute. And Sousuke is _smirking_ when Rin turns back.

She folds her arms severely across her chest. “Okay, fuck the emotional reunion. What’s that all about??”

His smirk is a grin now, and Rin can’t resist it, never could. She grins back as she scoots to sit on the edge of the stage. He sidles up next to her – but he doesn’t crowd her, instead just leaning his back against the stage, next to her dangling legs. They face out, watching a handful of people still chatting by the door and a staff member trundling a push-broom around. They could almost be hanging out at Iwatobi High; there’s the same feeling of familiarity, even if the comfort isn’t there yet. And she appreciates that.

“So did one of those clowns get you here?” she finally asks when she can’t stand it anymore. He chuckles, and she can’t resist a glance down at him. She can’t see too much from her angle, but she’s amused to see his hair is still a total formless mess, and there are crow’s-feet crinkling out from the corner of his eye. She wonders for a second how she compares to his memories.

“Both of ‘em, in a way. Makoto called me the other day. I don’t even know how he had my number.” He turns towards her, and his eyes find hers immediately without wandering an inch. “We had a really nice talk, actually. I forgot what a nice guy he was. It was funny though – he wouldn’t shut up about how much _Haru_ wanted me to come.” He laughs and shakes his head like he can’t decide which he wants to do more. “Sounds like she finally got her shit together, which is good.”

Rin frowns and opens her mouth but he’s faster. It’s like he has to get out a little speech that he came with or maybe that he was mulling over as he stood in the darkness during the show.

“I see what you all have, now. I didn’t get it before and – and it’s really fun to see you play. You guys are amazing. I’m so proud of you, Rin.” He’s smiling up at her with the soft smile that they both understand, that she realizes what she’s always known. 

She’s leaning deeply down before she knows what she’s doing, pulling the left side of his face around as she curls in to meet it with her own. He looks not just surprised but shocked, and then she’s kissing him. 

Their lips meet on the perpendicular, as they form a plus sign and Sousuke fucking spoils it all by giggling right at the climax of what she’s trying to do. She tries to pull back to rip him a new one but he’s already snuck an arm around her back. She feels his other arm snake around the other way and then she’s sliding forward, off the edge of the stage and into his arms. It’s a dumb cheesy romantic move that’s probably gonna throw his back out, and she considers yelling at him for second.

She gives him a proper kiss instead. It’s their first, in the years and years of knowing each other, and in a way that should make it weird. But knowing him as well as she does makes it feel anything but.

He still doesn’t put her down when she finally has to pull off to take a breath. She holds herself up, looking into his eyes, and says the thing that she’s been most afraid of for a long time now.

“I’m so, so sorry, Sousuke.”

He just lets her down to the ground, carefully, like he’s making sure she’s got a good footing before he lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind a little free(heh)-association for a moment...  
> It was such a surprise and blast to try to write Rin and Haru as women. I understand the dangers of switching a character's gender (or anything else). But it was surprising how little gender seemed to matter as the story came out, as i think a few chars mention here ;D. Of course, it may come across very differently to someone who didn't write it! I'd love any thoughts you may have.
> 
> I think this fic inadvertently stole from a million people I love in this fandom without even knowing it. To paraphrase Momo, we may all go our own directions but we'll always have Free ;')
> 
> THanks for reading!!


End file.
